


Second Chances - a Chrstmas Story

by AwatereJones



Series: Billionare Bears [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Christmas, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:44:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8693296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwatereJones/pseuds/AwatereJones
Summary: Jack has been mourning his lost love for too long. Every year he posts an ad for a 'friend' for Christmas without really caring if he gets a response. This year he got one. Not only is Ianto a dead ringer for his dead mate Ifan, he seems genuine in his desire to have a meal with company. Will Jack finally fond love again or will his suspicious mind spoil things? 
SMUT ALERT





	1. Chapter 1

Jack doesn't remember tossing the alarm clock with such force it shattered to a hundred pieces, but he hears the sound.

Groaning, he turns in his bedding. With winter approaching, all Jack wants is to stay indoors and hibernate in peace. This Boeshane boy misses the warmth of the sun already.

After some deliberation, he flings the sheets aside and rises, ignoring the debris of his alarm clock in one corner, which joins a thousand other pieces of its brothers and sisters. Mentally reminding himself to clean the mess up later, he drags himself into the shower.

The hot water jolts him awake, but he still feels grumpy.

He lumbers out of the bath, managed to find some warm clothes, and heads for the kitchen.

The penthouse suite of an expensive serviced apartment keeps Jack warm and well cloistered with most things being on-line shopped. On general principal, he abhors company of any sort.

_I suppose sentimentality's the real reason I can't force myself to move out._

Jack likes order. Can't stand chaos, and even if his former mate, Ifan, died a decade ago, he keeps everything the way it was. The placement of the furniture and the picture frames never left their place —like he's just frozen time, except nothing's going to bring back Ifan.

_I get that now… and I know what you're thinking._

Yes. He might be a little insane, or simply sad, but he doesn't give a fuck. In the kitchen, he slots a capsule in the expensive coffee machine and fire up his laptop while waiting.

The company board still forwards him important emails, but he mostly leaves the running of the business to them.

_I bet some of the junior executives don't recognize my face._

To them and the media, Jack is just the enigmatic millionaire who had that catastrophic melt down years ago—never seen since.

The double espresso smoothly goes down his throat. He listlessly scroll through e-mails, wondering why the hell he bothers getting up this early when an unread message catches his eye.

It's a response to the ad he anonymously posts on Craigslist each year when December rolls around.

_Well, before technology happened, I used to post on newspaper ads._

Every year for the past decade, he got the same response. _Nothing._ No bite to the bait, except this year there's an answer.

For a second he thinks he's hallucinating. That's what happens when one drinks several cups of coffee a day his therapist tells him, but the little unopened envelope icon remains there, taunting him.

"Fuck me," He mutters to himself. Despite his reservations, he clicks it open.

A handsome young man in uniform looks back at him from the screen. He's built with lean muscles and ink, dark hair shaved close to his skull, but that's not what lures him.

_Even before I meet Ianto Jones, I know I want him._

He pines for Ianto for all the wrong reasons—because he looks like the exact replica of Ifan. A roughly-hewn copy maybe, but the resemblance is striking, except Ifan doesn't possess the shadows under Ianto's eyes. The haunted young man looking back at him can either be an offering or a trap.

Jack's gaze shifts to the artful black-and white wedding photos on the living room. In all of them, Jack's laughing, arm around Ifan's shoulders and Jack is smiling—another him in a different life.

"Tell me to stop this. That this isn't a sign from you," he croaks at the silent frames.

In all the shots, Ifan's eyes crinkle slightly, as if he's sharing a secret joke with the photographer. The secret to happiness maybe, but he's keeping it to himself, hoarding it like a treasure.

Jack picks up the seldom-used cell phone and ring up his security guy—well, woman. Tosh picks up on the first ring. "Can you run a check for me?"

"Is someone after your life, boss?" Tosh asks, concern evident in her voice.

"Nothing of that sort," Jack quickly answers. He gives her Ianto Jones' name, if that was even his real name.

The next few passing minutes feels like an eternity. Jack is sweating in his thin, piece-of-cotton shirt. When Tosh calls again, it turns out Ianto used his real name. Tosh doesn't ask any more questions, but knowing her, she's bursting with them. Like the paid professional she is, Tosh keeps her silence after giving him the information he asked for.

After cutting the line, Jack stares at Ianto's picture for a couple of seconds.

_I know my request sounds shady. Hell, a little crazy, but I never expected anyone to answer my ad._

Either Ianto is really desperate for some quick cash, or he has ulterior motives. Jack is hoping it's the former.

Trusting his gut instincts Jacks cracks his knuckles and types a curt response.


	2. hello ...goodbye?

Ianto is about to retract his reply to the silly ad, when his phone chimes.

Feeling nervous, he flicks the email open.

He blinks, thinking this dude must enjoying teasing penniless ex-soldiers, except he re-reads the instructions. They're too precise, business-like almost—the kind that says 'I'm not kidding around'.

Ianto asks him if this all an elaborate joke. No response. he shivers, and look around the flea-bitten motel room. A rickety chair with peeling paint leans against the door that doesn't quite lock properly. On the floor by the creaky bed is the army-issued duffel bag containing all his belongings.

He has two jeans, three shirts, five pairs of socks and boxers, and a thin fleece jacket that's not going to keep him warm during the next few weeks.

Oh, and one battered pair of boots that have seen better days.

Ianto takes stock of his possessions and realizes he needs to do this. As much as he hates to admit it, he needs the spare cash. Home is a thousand miles away and he can barely scrounge up enough for a single plane ticket.

Hell, he plans to avoid heading back to Cardiff with his head bowed.

A warm roof might be waiting for him there, but he can't face his family. Being shouted at for being a quitter was one thing, but their silences were worse. He left to enlist the moment he reached the legal age. Said college was for pussies, but at twenty-three, he didn't have any answers.

The army let him back out after the incident, older, scarred, and no less wise. Ianto began his little sabbatical from the military by hitchhiking his way across America's roads. He would take odd jobs, a decent short-order cook, a passable bartender, but the jobs dried up when holiday season came around.

If playing a psycho's dead ex-husband might earn him enough dough to keep on moving forward, then so be it.

Some people might call his logic flawed, or tell him this is insane. What if this guy turned out to be a serial killer? A psycho who got off on taking young men captive?

One date to finance him for months versus turning to something he'd regret later like stripping or whoring himself out—it was an easy answer.

 _You still there?_ The mysterious client emails back.

 _Tell me the where, when and other details, and I'll be there_ ," Ianto typed, wondering if he just bought a one-way ticket to hell.

.

.

.

.

.

Three days later, Ianto is walking inside the lobby of a pricey serviced apartment he will never be able to afford in this lifetime or the next. A young couple dressed in matching candy-cane striped scarves walk past him, lugging bags filled with presents. When the doorman opens the doors for them, a cold blast of wind hits Ianto's face. His ears catch the faint voices of a choir singing a block away.

No one stops him, because of what he is wearing, he looks no different from the residents here—dressed top to bottom in designer labels, his appearance impeccable. After working out the details with Mr. Mysterious, he instantly wires funds to Ianto's bank account. He also mails him the access key to his suite.

Ianto slots the card into the lift and pushes the topmost button.

The scruffy-looking Ianto is gone.

He hardly recognizes himself in the reflective walls of the elevator. His clipped hair is slicked back and underneath his new Burberry coat he is wearing a suit and new shoes. New clothes don't make me a new man though. Pristine on the outside, but still damaged on the inside, but he doubts his employer will notice.

He has specific requirements, this client. Right down to the tiny details like the itty bitty uncomfortable briefs Ianto is supposed to be wearing, to the miniature gold airplane cuff links only one shop in the entire city sells.

Hell, Ianto spent the last three days scouring the city for his requirements. Lucky for Jack, Ianto didn't turn tail and run. Then again, add crazy to the rich asshole mix and you get one maniac you wouldn't want to cross.

No doubt a guy like this has a private security team working for him.

Imagining what he looks like doesn't help Ianto's nerves either.

How old is he? How does he look like?

Apparently his father was a shut-in, just like him.

Ianto is starting to get cold feet.

The lift reaches the penthouse suite. Ianto counts to ten mentally in his head. Do multiplication tables until his heart reverts to its usual rhythm.

Ianto decides to play this right, no matter how creepy or unpleasant he is. As long he behaves, Ianto won't need to use the firearm he keep tucked in the shoulder holster.

Ianto almost expects Mozart or Beethoven to be streaming from the high-def speakers in the room. Maybe see some pretentious-looking modern art pieces and heavy ornate furniture, but the interior is surprisingly minimalist but functional.

He nearly sighs with relief, until he catches sight of the pictures on the wall.

His heart halts. For a second, he is unable to breathe.

Shots of him, or a guy who looks remarkably like him, are plastered all over the apartment, except this guy smiles easy. He looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. Ignoring the chill creeping down his spine, Ianto studies the second guy beside his doppelganger.

"Damn," he mutters under his breath. If the surly but gorgeous well-built hunk is his employer, he wants to kick himself. How old …. How long ago was this photo taken? Years of grief can change a man. He can neglect his body. Look fifty years older. "You don't look like a psycho."

Perhaps there's a date. He peers at the photo more closely, and jumps when a hand touches his shoulder.

"Am I supposed to take that as a fucking compliment, boy?" a voice growls close to his ear.

All his instincts are screaming at him to run, to take cover and strategize, but he wills himself to turn slowly.

Ianto read somewhere it's unwise to show weakness in front of a predator. Up close, Mr. Mysterious is huge. At six-feet plus he towers over Ianto's Six-one.

Ianto's mouth goes dry. A couple of gray threads in his dark unruly mane, but otherwise, his client looks exactly like the man in the photo.

"Um. Hi. I'm Ianto." Ianto extends a hand. No harm being friendly.

Jack frowns. On closer inspection, Ianto is mistaken. He's not the same.

Older and tougher, Mr. Mysterious also packs more muscle.

Unable to help himself, Ianto rakes his gaze across his rough, but handsome unshaven face, then to his smoking hot body. He's built like a fighter or linebacker, and it occurs to Ianto that nothing about him is soft.

At first, Ianto thinks he's like hard steel, but no. He's iron, because there's something brittle inside him.

"Jack Harkness," he says in a rough and gruff voice.

Standing only inches apart, Ianto is aware of the heat between their bodies, hoping to escape the confines of their skin. Jack only has to look down to see the visible bulge straining against Ianto's trousers.

Then his name rings a bell. A few years ago, the CEO of a group of companies went berserk during a charity ball after his partner had been run down by a drunk driver. Rumour had it Jack, stopped the car and practically ripped the driver's door off to get the culprit. Local cops arrived in time to pump tranquilizer darts into him and drop him cold.

Jack's gaze darkens and it occurs to Ianto the bastard expects him to run. To tell him some kind of lame excuse so he no longer has to see this to the finish. Ianto almost lashes out at him. He never learned to pick his fights, but he doesn't because he glimpses the sliver of weakness there.

Jack's just as lonely as Ianto is.

Desperate for some company, even a stranger's, so he won't spend Christmas Eve alone.

"I smell fear on you, boy…and arousal."

Ianto's sympathy vanishes. He glowers at him. "Nice way to greet your date, buddy. And I have a name. Besides, I'm not the only one sporting a hard-on."

Ianto gestures to his trousers. Jack blinks, but he not done. "If you think you can scare me away after a couple of growls, then you have another thing coming."

"I see that now and I'm sorry for being an ass," Jack says.

He studies Ianto intently. Discomfort of a different sort rams into Ianto.

_Why do I have a feeling Jack possesses the ability to see what most men can't? To reach places I want to keep buried?_

"Would you like something to drink?"

"Beer, if you have any." Ianto knows he going off-script. After the funds transfer, Jack also mailed him a list of approved lines, in case you're wondering, but he doesn't remark on the fact his dead husband preferred wine.

"Sure." He lumbers to the fridge, tugging at his tie in irritation.

It occurs to Ianto that Jack's the kind of guy who looks more comfortable in an old pair of jeans and a flannel shirt.

He is starting to dislike this John.

Ianto knows nothing about him, or his relationship with Jack, but he sure managed to sink his hooks deep into Jack before going back to the dirt.

_Not my place to speculate about the lives of others either, especially a client I won't see again after tonight._

Jack hands Ianto the bottle and gets one for himself.

"This is a mistake," he mumbles. Ianto is about to protest, but Jack continues, "You didn't do anything wrong. In fact you look…fucking perfect, but I changed my mind. I'll send the rest of the promised payment."


	3. midnight

Ianto bristles and his jaw tightens. "Don't turn to a coward the moment something becomes hard."

Jack growls, making him aware enraging a muscled man the size of him isn't the best idea in the world. "You don't fucking know me well enough to judge me."

Ianto takes deep breaths. Arguing won't get them anywhere. "I'm sorry. You're right, but don't you want to see this to the finish?"

Jack's brows furrow. "What's it to you? Aren't you here for the check?"

Ianto clenches and unclenches his fists. Count silently to ten in his head again. "It started out that way, but is there anything wrong with this? We're just two lonely guys with no one to spend Christmas Eve with. Let's have dinner, chat, and see if this will go anywhere. If it doesn't work out, we go our separate ways. Sound easy enough?"

"Nothing's ever simple," Jack mutters, but Ianto can see the notion intrigues him.

"Think of it as a date."

Jack looks blankly at him.

It's not hard to guess his last serious relationship had been Ifan…John…whatever. If Jack thinks Ianto is no different from his one-night hook-ups or rent boys—because no way a guy like him can stay celibate—then he has another thing coming.

"So what's for dinner?"

The question seems to make him less tense.

"Roast beef, chicken, and lamb chops, potatoes, some greens, and cheesecake for dessert," Jack mumbles. The table is set to perfection with matching Christmas-themed sets and cutlery. After helping him bring the dishes from the kitchen, Ianto marvels at the feast he prepared.

His stomach rumbles. For the first time that evening, Ianto spies the little smile curling at the corner of Jack's lips.

Ianto says grace, because old habits die hard. Again, it's not part of the Ifan-script, but Jack doesn't point that out.

"Let's dig in?" Ianto asks.

Ianto tucks in without an ounce of shame, because it's been awhile since he had anything this good or solid. To save up, he has lived on convenience store discount food for weeks.

When he notices Jack isn't eating, just looking at him in wonderment, he slows down, swallowing his latest chunk of beef and take a sip of water.

"Is there a problem?" Ianto asks.

Jack shakes its head. "It's a pleasure watching someone who knows how to enjoy a good meal. Makes an old man feel appreciated."

Ianto snorts. "You're hardly old. Did you really cook all these, or did you somehow cheat?"

Jack glowers at him. "There's nothing wrong with a man knowing how to cook."

"I can't agree with you more."

"The army didn't feed you right, or something?"

Ianto is unable to hide the surprise from his face. The last thing he expected was for Jack to ask something so personal, but he didn't mind. "They fed me alright, but I'm retired. It's not obvious, but my leg got shot awhile back."

"You limp a little," Jack observed.

Ianto has a feeling he wants to say more, or ask more questions, but he lets the silence sit while we stuff ourselves.

"Sorry," Ianto mumbles, helping him clear the plates to make way for dessert.

Jack frowns. "What the hell are you apologizing for?"

"This isn't the romantic dinner you envisioned and I'm not the perfect dinner guest."

"You're not Ifan, and you can never be," Jack says so softly Ianto barely hears the words.

Ianto can't understand the strange stab in his heart, or the underlying anger waiting to burst forth, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Jack isn't done though. "But I'm glad. I prefer knowing the real Ianto, not an actor playing my dead mate."

Ianto pauses at that. "I didn't fulfil the role you wanted me to play."

Jack lets out a breath. "I didn't expect anyone to answer my ad. It's wistful thinking on my part. Despite what you may believe, I'm not crazy. I've put Ifan's ghost to rest a long time ago, but I still have my bad days."

"Like tonight?" Ianto asks, remembering what little he knew about Jack. 'Eccentric Millionaire Goes Berserk on Christmas Eve'—that's the title of the article he read.

Jack nods, looking distracted again. "I'm going to get dessert."

He brings the impressive cheesecake in. The otherwise perfect cake is decorated with red and green Christmas icing, making it slightly tacky, but the taste is delicious. Ianto devours two slices, while Jack makes them both cups of coffee.

"Let me help you wash up," Ianto offers.

He blinks, but nods. Ianto is grateful for the work, because he'll take any excuse to linger on. The clock in the kitchen reads ten minutes to midnight. Ianto take five minutes to load the dishes in the washer and put the leftovers in neat containers. He finds Jack looking out the wide glass windows of his living room.

The view of the city stares back at them, miniature and silent.

Falling snowflakes create a light white dusting over rooftops strung with blinking lights, dancing Santas and happy snowmen. They are so high up that they can't hear the Christmas carols or the drunken voices from the neighbours.

"I hate holidays," Ianto says, announcing his presence. He has a feeling Jack knows He's been standing behind him and saying nothing for a couple of seconds.

"Feeling's mutual," he mutters.

Screw decorum.

Ianto approaches Jack, noticing the way his back muscles tense up. Then he wraps his arms around his huge frame and buries his face into the curve of his back.

Ianto takes a lungful of his scent.

Jack smells a little of peppermint, musk and clean soap.

Ianto didn't need to steal a glance at his wrist watch to know the clock's struck midnight.

"Merry Christmas, Jack," he says, standing on tiptoe to kiss his unshaven cheek.


	4. a deal is a deal

Ianto almost expected him to say back the words, replacing his name with Ifan's, except he doesn't.

"Ianto," Jack says in his deep and rough voice.

The sound of his name on Jack's lips makes him aware of the uncomfortable bulge in his trousers, pressing up against Jack's ass.

Below them, some folks emerge on their balconies—singles finding strangers, couples seeking to share heat with their other halves.

Normally, unwarranted jealousy would course inside Ianto's veins, pushing him to do something he would come to regret, like wandering into a crowded bar.

Tonight though, he is not alone. He has Jack.

_We have each other._

Ianto detaches himself from Jack. He turns towards Ianto, looking at him with lost and vulnerable eyes. Jack reminds him of an injured, scarred grizzly in the woods you can't help but want to pull into a hug, even though its dangerous.

"Let me take care of your need," Ianto says.

"Don't make offers you'll regret later on," he answers in a rough voice.

"I won't regret this. I'm a hundred percent sure. Are you?" Ianto challenges.

Jack snarls. "Has no one ever taught you to never provoke an angry lion the jungle, little boy?"

If he thinks Ianto will be offended by that, then he's severely mistaken his resolve. Ianto tells him in plain and simple words, "one night, no rules or promises."

Desire, thick and raw, flickers across his gaze and Ianto knows he has him now. Jack closes one large hand over his wrist.

Ianto's pulse jumps at his touch, both in fear and in anticipation. When Jack smiles, Ianto can see a hint of his teeth.

_Have I bitten more than I can chew?_

Jack growls out two words in response. "Bedroom. Now."

Ten steps, then fifteen.

They fumble at each other like animals and lose their clothes along the way. The less fabric there is the way, the more he doesn't want to cease touching Jack.

_Where should I start, when every inch of him is golden and muscled perfection?_

Ianto is not ashamed to show it's been awhile for him, because Jack's acting the same. Hunger is imprinted in each of his caresses.

"Kiss me," Ianto demands.

Jack doesn't refuse. He shoves Ianto against the wall a couple of feet from the master bedroom and pins his arms above his head.

Jack leans in close and takes Ianto's lips.

Their chests, stomachs and thickening members touch. Ianto's insides turn to jelly. He doesn't think any man has ever reduced him to this—a quivering mess only capable of taking what he chose to give.

Jack's heat and taste floods down Ianto's throat. He nips and sucks, eager to take, but Ianto is ready to be consumed by his need.

Ianto opens his mouth and lets him deepen the kiss.

They grind our sweat-slicked bodies together, igniting heat when the rest of the outside world remains frozen in winter's embrace.

When he releases Ianto, they are both panting and looking at each other. Wordless, but they've already said all they needed to. Clothes flitter to the floor like the snowflakes outside, releasing excited bodies.

Keeping one hand over Ianto's wrists, Jack reaches between their bodies. He flicks the pre-cum gathered at Ianto's knob, then begins gliding his fist around Ianto's length.

Up and down. Slow and fast.

A moan escapes Ianto, but Jack shuts him up by mashing his lips against Ianto's. He peppers kisses down the side of his neck, his breath warm.

"Jack," Ianto whispers, but he places a finger to his lips.

"Don't speak. I'm barely holding onto my control."

After he lifts his finger, Ianto nips at his earlobe. "Let go."

Jack snarls, his hand movements gaining momentum. He lowers his head to Ianto's left nipple. Circles his tongue over the bud until it hardens, before taking it in his mouth and biting down.

Ianto gasps, eyes widening at the slight pain. Dark knowledge fills Jack's eyes. He knows a little bite can push Ianto to the edge. Jack tends to the right nipple. Leaves an imprint of his teeth marks there, and the knowledge that he's wearing Jack's marks is enough for the pressure inside Ianto to break.

"Come," Jack commands with the surety of a man who knows what is truly his.

Ianto lets out a shuddering breath. It's damn erotic, coming all over his fingers and having his gaze trained on the expression on his face.

Standing so close, Jack's privy to each of Ianto's dirty secrets and the moment he' truly exposed and vulnerable.

"Perfect," he says. Even dazed, heat crawls to Ianto's cheeks and neck.

"Nah. You haven't fucked me yet."

"You're fucking crass, Ianto."

"Don't like it?"

"Don't you fucking dare change a damn thing." Jack miraculously produces a packet of wet wipes from one of the drawers in the living room and cleans then both up. Then he grabs Ianto's arm and leads him to his bedroom.


	5. time is not an issue

Seeing the unmade sheets and what look like colourful bits and pieces of some kind of machine on one side of the wall, Ianto winces.

It takes him a couple of seconds to guess they were alarm clocks.

"Let me guess. Not a morning person?" Ianto realizes Jack is watching him with hooded eyes, waiting for a reaction, or perhaps rejection?

"We grumpy old fucks prefer to sleep in."

"My kind of guy." Ianto turns to Jack, and begin trailing his fingers over his pectorals. "Let me return the favour."

He grunts, which Ianto assumes means 'yes'.

Doesn't matter, because his body language and the look in his eyes tell him what he can't put into words.

Ianto kneels in front of his powerful figure.

Experimentally reaches out for one his balls and squeeze. Jack growls, and threads his fingers through Ianto's hair.

Hiding his grin, Ianto begin to work. He flicks his tongue over his tip, tasting his arousal. Jack tightens his grip and tugs, but Ianto take his time exploring and tracing the veins of his silken length.

"Quit playing around, Ianto."

Some other time, Ianto thinks, because he knows there is a next time.

_The chemistry between us is too explosive to ignore._

Jack nudges his tip between Ianto's lips. Ianto gags at first, but easily gets used to his size.

Making certain he applies suction with every inch, Ianto bobs his head up and down.

Jack was already at half-mast, so it doesn't take long before he's rock hard under Ianto's ministrations.

"Ianto," Jack says. "I want to finish in you."

Gently, he uses his hair as a handle and draws out his cock.

"How do you want me?" Ianto asks calmly.

"Lie on the edge on of the bed. On your back, please," he commands.

The position makes Ianto hesitate, but he obeys. Most of his random encounters in gay bars end up in the public bathroom stall, or a seedy motel. After getting our quick fix, he felt disgusted, numb, and empty right after.

With Jack, it's the exact opposite. He'll ride Ianto hard and rough, like the way he wants him to, except Ianto knows he'll leave him wanting and wishing for things he have no right thinking of. He'll leave his hooks embedded deep into Ianto's skin, the way Ifan left his souvenirs on Jack in the form of scars most folks can't see.

"Changed your mind?" Jack asks. Although he tries to hide it well, Ianto can see his disappointment.

"No way in hell." Ianto huffs and he lies down on the bed. Breathes in the smell of the comforter Jack lay on only this morning, and curls his fingers over his length. "See how hard I'm beginning to get again?"

He's not usually this bold or lewd, but desperate times call for tough measures.

"Hold on." Jack lumbers to the bedside drawer and pulls out a packet of condoms and a tube of lube.

"Not to ruin the mood, but those aren't expired right?"

Jack snarls. "Of course not, I'm a normal guy. I get lonely too."

"Well then. Stop wasting time growling and get over here. Come mount me, big guy."

_I want my man inside me._

"You're one of a kind, Ianto. Blunt and honest, which is fucking refreshing."

Ianto's surly benefactor takes position between his legs, and Ianto wonders when he started calling him 'my' in his head.

He's certain if Jack hears him utter any term of endearment, he'll take it really bad. After all, he's just the guy he hired to play his dead husband. No one can replace Ifan. Jack said so himself, yet he told him never to change.

_What the fuck did that mean?_

Did Jack sense the inferno between them, but refuse to acknowledge its existence?

_Is that a step he isn't ready to take yet?_

"You're over thinking again," Jack observes, positioning Ianto's legs over his shoulders.

He opens a condom wrapper and sheathes it over his length.

Then he uncaps the lube and applies a generous amount over his fingers and Ianto's waiting hole. Ianto squirms when he teases his puckered hole and slides a finger in.

"You damn tease," Ianto moans.

_I daresay I see the hint of a smile again—more brownie points for me. Someday, if he allows it, I'm going to coax that elusive grin out in the open. Hell, on the optimistic side, I want to lead him out of this hovel and show him the world he's grown tired of. A sexy Adonis doesn't belong here in an enclosed and lonely penthouse suite._

"Stay still," Jack orders.

He inserts a second finger in and begins scissoring Ianto for his access. Then he blankets his warm body over Ianto's and nudges his cockhead in the waiting ass. Ianto groans at the sheer size of him.

Ianto doesn't think he's ever taken anything Jack's size inside of him, but Jack goes slow until he's buried hilt deep in Ianto.

"Take deep breaths. Relax." Jack's voice is soothing. The initial burn fades away and all Ianto see is Jack's gaze locked on his.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Yes," Ianto answers in a breathy whisper.

Jack sinks his hands into the flesh of Ianto's hips and begins to ride him. He goes slow and steady. Once Jack's certain Ianto is used to him, he begins to pick up speed.

"Fuck, Ianto. You're so tight," he mutters.

Ianto wraps his arms around Jack's neck. Jack doesn't seem to mind and Ianto eventually sinks his fingers into the muscles of Jack's shoulders, leaving scratches and half-crescent marks.

_I'm human. Always been, but with Jack, it feels like there's an animal in me, wanting to be unleashed._

Jack reaches between their bodies and begins pumping Ianto's cock in time to his thrusts. Then this time he hammers into him, he must have switched angle, because he wrangles a loud gasp from him.

Merciless and unrelenting, Jack aims for his sweet spot repeatedly. He drives Ianto close to the edge, but pulls back when he's close to bursting.

"Bastard," Ianto whispers, his tone frustrated yet filled with fondness.

Jack answers with another mind-blowing kiss.


	6. last bit ...for now?

Jack pinches the tip of Ianto's dick and that's enough for him to climax.

Ianto lets out a shuddering cry as waves of pleasure assault his body.

Jack sends Ianto's mind and soul thirty thousand feet in the air.

_The room falls away until there is only us, our bodies, hearts and souls connected as one._

It doesn't take long for Jack to reach orgasm. With an ear-shattering growl, he collapses against Ianto, his weight a comforting feel.

Ianto recovers minutes later. He hopes to have plenty of witty, profound or romantic things to say. "That was….wow."

Jack chuckles. The sound of his laugh, unexpected and free, jolts Ianto wide awake from his blissful stupor.

"You should laugh more often," Ianto remarks.

Jack gets off him, and cleans both of them up with a spare washcloth.

It occurs to Ianto that he has fulfilled all of Jack's requirements.

All that's left for him to do is collect payment and leave, but he can't leave.

Not now.

Jack's aware of the contract.

Ianto can feel the weight of his gaze on him.

"Do you want me to leave?" Ianto finally asks, wrapping himself in his comforter.

This is bad. One night and Jack's already twisted him to knots.

All it took was a couple of hours for Jack to make Ianto fall for him a little.

_Nuts I know, because in the end, we're both just strangers. If there's a possibility of a tomorrow between us, it can't go on this way. Like Jack said, I can't replace Ifan. Jack might be able to accept the real me, but can he take the first step away from the past?_

Ianto is steadying myself for his rejection. Jack takes a seat beside him. "No. Stay, but this is fucked-up."

"Why? Because of the circumstances and how we met? We can't alter the past, but we can decide what happens after."

"I have issues. I'm in need of fixing."

Ianto rolls his eyes. "Clearly, but it's not like I'm all clean and shiny either. Don't you think there's a reason I answered your ad? We're drawn to each other because we're alike."

"That's a good thing?"

Ianto takes Jack's hand, raises it to his lips and lays a kiss to each of his knuckles. "Come find out."

This time, Jack smiles for real.

Maybe come the New Year there would be someone to kiss at midnight.

THE END?


	7. Spoilers

The meal is eaten in soft conversation that Ianto did not join as he chewed over the worry that Jack had decided to keep things strictly professional.

A silence falls over the room, and a nervous tension fills every crack and corner.

"Ianto?" Owen spoke and Ianto wondered how long he had been trying to get his attention, "Are you cold? You're shaking."

"It doesn't matter" he said to his plate of uneaten food, "It's just a state of mind."

/

/

/

/

His voice trails off, and he turns his body away from him. "Please, I want to leave now."

Jack spins him around in his arms.

"Open your eyes and look at me," he commands.

Ianto's eyes open and peer at him. "Please, I don't want to be in here."

"Tell me what you saw on the footboard that scared you, _Sweetling_ ," he orders, caressing his cheek.

"There are restraints hanging off it…now, please, can we leave?"

Jack can feel Ianto shaking uncontrollably in his arms as the fear in his eyes blow the pupils more than lust had.

/

/

/

/

So part two is underway and I was a little naughty in not warning you in the first one …this is a Teddykin story …a Billionaire Bear Story with smut, adventure, angst …bondage …growling …maybe biting ….BDSM? Eeek.


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